


Birthday

by 221Btls



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Romance, porn wannabe, red silk stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:36:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221Btls/pseuds/221Btls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thinks Sherlock has forgotten his birthday, but he couldn't be more wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday is a song from the Beatles White Album.

John dragged himself up the 17 steps, grocery bags in tow.  This was a day he would be glad to have over.  He’d started the day with such hope; it being his birthday, the first with Sherlock since they’d become a couple, he’d thought it might be the best one he’d had in years.  This boyfriend of his wasn’t much for holidays, or gifts, or sentiment, but with the very unsubtle hints he’d been dropping for days now, he didn’t think even Sherlock could ignore a day so important to his lover.  He should have known better.

This morning, waking up alone, just an empty mess of bedclothes lying beside him, he heaved himself out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen.  He wouldn’t have minded a little snuggling this morning, breathing in the heady scent of Sherlock to start off the day. 

Setting the kettle on the stove, he managed a grumbly “Morning” towards his immobile flatmate.  Silence.  Oh, excuse me Mr. Scientist he thought, wouldn’t want to interrupt your morning experiment.  Sherlock didn’t even glance his way as he continued to peer determinedly into his microscope, long tapered fingers adjusting the dials with his usual focused precision.    

So much for a happy birthday, John sighed to himself.

As John got ready to go to the clinic, Sherlock didn’t even seem to register there was anyone else in the flat, let alone a disgruntled boyfriend.  Not one to leave things on a sour note, John stopped on his way to the door to wrap his arm around the hunched figure at the kitchen table and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s temple, sneaking in a little sniff to tide him over for the day.

“Bye, John”, came the distracted send off.

The day went by in the usual way~ dripping noses, the occasional stitches, Mrs. Tottenburg with her chronic gout.  John did get a nice surprise when at lunch time a cake was brought out of hiding and the staff gathered around to sing him “Happy Birthday”. 

“What are you and Sherlock doing tonight, John?  Going to Angelo’s?” asked Sarah.  He and Sarah, though a catastrophe as a couple, had settled into a comfortable friendship.  He appreciated that she hadn’t taken it personally that he and Sherlock had become an item soon after their split and in fact had been very encouraging in their relationship.  She cared about John and wanted to see him loved and happy.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t think he even remembers it’s my birthday.  He barely even noticed me this morning” replied John.  “One of the world’s great geniuses, who can list 243 types of tobacco ash without so much as a cheat sheet can’t even bother to remember his boyfriend’s birthday.”

“Oh, John.  You know how he is.  He does love you, you know, he’s just…not one for the niceties most of us put so much store in.”

“I know”, John sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.  “I’m a stupid git for thinking today might be any different”.  He knew he was being unrealistic hoping Sherlock would have treated him with a little more deference on his special day, maybe breakfast in bed or better yet, a quick good morning shag.  He well knew the man he had fallen so irretrievably  in love with, but still, would some small confirmation that this day was special to John have been such a burden on him?

John turned the key in the door and took the bags into the kitchen.  Looking around into the sitting room, all he saw was emptiness.  No Sherlock.  Probably out on a case; the least he could have done was text John to see if he wanted to tag along.  So much for “I’d be lost without my Blogger”. 

John finished putting the groceries away, made himself a warm cup of apple cinnamon tea and settled into his chair.  “Happy Birthday, to me”, he muttered under his breath, picking up the medical journal he had left on the small table in front of him.  

He heard some small commotion coming from the bedroom.  Not having thought to do so earlier, he glanced over towards the coat rack beside the front door, Sherlock’s coat and scarf were hanging from it.  Home then.  _Fine_. 

“John!”

John had no problem hearing his name, but he was feeling sulky and chose to ignore the demand to come hither.  It obviously was not a cry for help, the voice did not sound at all distressed, so Sherlock could just hold onto his panties.  John turned the page and continued reading the latest, if not the most riveting, research on gout.

“JOHN!” came the demanding voice, more persistent this time.

He has had enough!  Being ignored all day by that infuriating man on the one day of the year that he was supposed to be pampered, John slammed the journal back down onto the table, launched himself out of the chair and marched across the room.

“Sherlock!  You selfish lug of a man, what do you…”  As he pushed open the bedroom door his words were quickly swallowed down into his suddenly constricting throat as he took in the startling sight in front of him.  There must have been 20 small candles flickering in the darkened room, giving it an ethereal glow.  His nostrils caught the scent of their pleasingly lavender aroma.  But what really made it difficult to breath was the sight of the figure on their bed. 

Splayed out on his stomach, Sherlock was stretched out, half on and half off the queen size mattress.  Sinewy arms spread out across the width. Broad, musle-contoured shoulders below that beautiful mess of curly dark hair.  Tapered waist merging into his naked bum with those firm, rounded globes thrust up into the air _just this much._

Breathe, Watson. 

The frosting on the proverbial cake was the sheer red stockings encasing those impossibly long limbs, hanging over the edge of the bed, with Sherlock’s toes pressed into the carpet seemingly miles from the edge; his bum threaded with the red leather thong that was surely stressed with the task of cradling Sherlock’s substantial cock that was currently out of view.

Sherlock’s piercing blue eyes met John’s as he angled his head back towards the door where John had frozen. 

“Happy Birthday, John”.

Sweet baby Jesus, it certainly is.

 

 

* * *

  
  
As much as John felt the surge of desire in his groin, he also felt an overwhelming rush of love for his partner. Not only had Sherlock remembered John's birthday, he had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble to pick out just the right, ahem, gift for him. He nearly burst into a fit of giggles thinking of Sherlock at the shop picking out just the right lingerie.   
  
"No, No! NOT the fishnets, we're not going crabbing!" he could imagine Sherlock snapping impatiently at the shopgirl. With the marine world not having made it into Sherlock's mental database , he could certainly be excused for being unaware that crabpots are used for catching crabs, not nets.  
  
John chuckled and gave the detective a tender smile. "You did all this for me? Right then." He could feel his cock straining at the confines of his jeans, but first he wanted to show tender appreciation for such thoughtfulness before unwrapping the sumptuous gift before him.  
  
Crawling onto the bed beside Sherlock he tugged him up towards the headboard with him and snuck his hand behind Sherlock's head, grabbing onto the irrepressible curls. Taking his partner's generous lips in his, nipping them, he reached his tongue in to meet Sherlock's and melted into his mouth as though the world began and ended there.   
  
"Thank you" John murmured as he pecked at Sherlock's lips with sweet little kisses. "Thank you, love. This is the best present I could ever have hoped for".   
  
Sherlock pulled back and eyed him skeptically. "The best? That's unexpected hyperbole coming from you. You haven't even opened the gifts, yet, John".   
  
John opened his love-softened eyes and queried "Gifts? What could be better than this?" gesturing from his lover's stocking-shorn limbs up to the kiss-red lips, pausing noticeably at the large bulge mid-gesture.   
  
Sherlock cocked that cocky little smile, raised a seductive eyebrow, and gestured with his head to the 3, obviously professionally (obviously not Sherlock), wrapped boxes sitting on the bedside table.   
  
Seeing the boxes that had escaped his notice, wondering who COULD have noticed them with such a lovely distraction, John reached over Sherlock to pick up a box, untying the white satin bow. Inside he eyed the purple silk scarf.  
  
"What...?"  
  
Sherlock peered at John intensely "Go on. Open the others".  
  
Opening the second box to reveal a set of furry handcuffs (Oh!) and in the third a riding crop (OH!), he sank down beside Sherlock once again, wrapping his arms tightly around him as though to let go would mean the end of life itself. Nuzzling into Sherlock's neck with a satisfied sigh, he reached back behind his neck and with one hand grabbed Sherlock’s wrists into a stronghold, excitement stirring in him at Sherlock's surprise and playful resistance.

“I should have known you’d get me a present that’s just as much about you as it is me, you selfish tart”.

John couldn’t resist licking his lips before he asked in a husky voice, “Ready?”


End file.
